


Things Unsaid

by butterflybaby91



Series: It's History to Me [9]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Just some thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybaby91/pseuds/butterflybaby91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras thinks things over after the party</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Totally been holding this hostage for like a month. I'm not sure I like it, but I haven't made an effort to come up with something else and it is the way I want the story line to go, so I am posting it.

            Enjolras did not get the opportunity to speak with Eponine for the remainder of the evening. While he was still talking to one last patron, he happened to look over the shoulder of the man and saw Eponine heading toward the door, supporting a very drunk Grantaire. Enjolras gave the most imperceptible shake of his head at the man’s state of intoxication, but he did manage to catch Eponine’s eye and she gave him a small, timid wave and he smiled in return as she disappeared out the door.

            He sighed once she was gone. The evening had not gone quite as he had hoped. Eponine had been right though—the evening was supposed to be spent wooing patrons, not dancing. As Enjolras politely excused himself from man with whom he was speaking and went off to find Courfeyrac to see if he needed help overseeing clean-up, part of him wondered if maybe Eponine had actually just wanted to stop dancing with him. He had monopolized a good portion of her time. A twinge of disappointment begin to well in his stomach at that thought, so he quickly pushed it aside and strode across the hall to where he finally spotted Courfeyrac, curled up in a chair with Jehan reclining on his lap.

            “Courfeyrac,” Enjolras called as he neared his friend. Courfeyrac reluctantly jerked his eyes up away from his boyfriend and gave Enjolras a questioning look, “Do you two need me to do anything to help clean-up?” Enjolras asked, not really expecting to be given a task—Courfeyrac usually did not trust anyone besides Jehan to help him with the parties, even the clean-up.

            As anticipated, Courfeyrac shook his head, “Nah, we’ll probably just throw trash away and deal with everything else tomorrow.” Enjolras could tell both boys looked exhausted. Courfeyrac’s usually bubbly personality was noticeably flat and the way he was snuggled up into Jehan’s side, made it look like he could fall asleep right then and not wake up for a week.

            Enjolras nodded and reached out to squeeze Courfeyrac’s shoulder, “Okay. Congratulations on the gala—it was excellent, some of your best work,” he frowned as he surveyed the two boys, “Get some sleep,” he told them to which they both nodded lazily so he just said goodnight and left.

            As he turned out into the dark streets to walk home alone, since Combeferre, his flat-mate had already left some time ago to work on a paper he had due tomorrow, Enjolras found himself alone with his thoughts and for the first time, it was not something he relished. He had long felt Eponine, worming her way into his life and his heart.

After first it had terrified him—the day that he found he could not focus when she was not playing music at her desk indicating her lack of happiness, was the first time he had allowed himself to examine her place in his life. It had been when the hug they had shared that day popped into his mind later that he had felt his heart palpitate at the thought of her for the first time. 

            Enjolras had thought he was having a heart attack at first and had begun taking deep breaths to slow his racing heart. He had felt like Joly as he had begun worrying if he should be more concerned about the irregular operations of that muscle. He kept his fears to himself, but the palpitations had kept happening over the following several days.

The second time, it had been in the museum office, when Eponine had come skipping in the next morning. He had smiled at her in greeting and immediately he felt like he could not breathe.

The third time had been when Eponine bounced over to his desk to hand him some forms for him to sign and their hands brushed. He had blanched and looked up at her, eyes wide, mouth agape, as he felt his heart jump into his throat. She had just given him a curious look and asked if he was okay. Enjolras had only been able to stiffly nod, but it had been enough to appease Eponine, although she proceeded to give him curious looks from across the room for the rest of the day.

            It was after that third time, that Enjolras forced himself to admit what the common denominator was in all these instances of heart abnormalities—Eponine. Luckily, when he realized this, it had been a Friday and he had been able to hole himself up in his room for the entirety of the weekend to sort out his conflicting emotions. What he discovered was that there really was nothing conflicting about them—he liked Eponine. Even though he had never liked anyone before in his life, he was rather sure of it.

            He liked how she was almost as driven to help the museum succeed as he was and how hard she worked in everything, from the museum, to school, to protecting her siblings from her vicious parents. He liked how her dark childhood had not totally jaded her and that she was able to still laugh louder than any of them and find happiness in little things, like the silly stickers she had put up around her computer screen, or the funny cat shaped mug she drank tea from every morning. He liked her kindness toward everyone, especially her fierce loyalty toward their friends, such as how she always stood up for Grantaire when he got too drunk and Enjolras lost his temper at the other man. He also liked how her long ebony hair would get tangled around the pen she inevitably shoved behind her ear as she worked. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled at him. He had come to these conclusions all in one weekend and had come charging into the museum the next day, happy and excited that he had figured everything out.

            But, then he never worked up the nerve to tell her—truthfully he was a little scared to do so. He had no idea how she would react or if she felt the same. He remembered how she had been in love with Marius and he was not even sure she was over that crush. So he had held his tongue. Then, over the past few weeks leading up to the gala, he thought he had caught Eponine sneaking him secretive glances across the room numerous times. He was not sure if he had imagined that Eponine was hanging around the museum office more often, so that the two of them often ended up being alone numerous evenings in a row, both working steadily at their desks, except for the occasional times their eyes met and they had hurriedly looked away.

            Even if he had imagined those changes in her behavior, when he walked into the gala and had seen how beautiful she looked in her red dress, Enjolras had decided that it was time to do something about his feelings, but he had not gotten to verbally express himself, so he was still unsure of her reaction. But, when she had seemed so receptive to his minor advances, it had given him hope.

            Now, as he reached his flat, he knew what he had to do. He sent Eponine a text asking “ _Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow morning?”_ His heart soared, when she replied almost immediately in the affirmative and they made plans to meet at the café down the street from the museum. Enjolras was finally going to tell her flat out and get the answers he was craving. 


End file.
